


Shared Trials

by SGDC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:04:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGDC/pseuds/SGDC
Summary: Jon Snow battles his demons while trying to rule the North. Daenerys struggles to find direction the closer she gets to her only goal.Starts in Season 7 of the TV series and will flesh out a lot of scenes I felt were missing from the show or would be good additions for flavor/character building.Will go past Season 7 eventually, but will take a while to get into that territory.Pretty much every scene that was on the show is considered "canon" as far as this work is concerned. The chapters will be built around those scenes and seek to give more context/weight to the actual on screen interactions.The Story will be heavily Jon/Dany based, with a little Arya/Gendry down the line after the Season 7 stuff is mostly done.A lot more weight will be put on Jon/Arya's warging as well, so lot's of wolf dreams in those chapters.





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> The following chapter takes place after Jon & Co. receive the raven from Tyrion inviting Jon to Dragonstone, but before the raven from Samwell at Oldtown telling Jon of the dragonglass on Dragonstone.

The buck stood at the stream, bending to drink from the slow moving water. Shafts of early morning light cut through the trees, dancing on the small tufts of snow still clinging to the soldier pines. Jon crouched in a patch of brush not 20 feet away, tensed and ready to pounce. His white fur, thick with the morning’s frost, swayed gently in the wind. He knew he was hidden well, the snow and shadows cloaking him. The only indication the wolf was there were his two red eyes, and even those were hidden amongst the red berries of the thicket he crouched in. 

A twig snapped in the distance, the buck’s head shooting up to look to the other side of the river. _The black birds are mocking my hunting again,_ Jon thought. Food had been scarce enough for the metal men who hunted these woods, but it had been scarcer still for a direwolf. He took a tentative step forward as the buck relaxed, dipping its head once more to drink from the river. This buck was small and underfed, he would need to hunt again sooner than he’d like. His mouth began to water as his stomach churned with hunger. The deer stopped drinking and began to move closer, it's breath frosting into puffs in the crisp morning air. 

It took a few tentative steps, the sound of hooves crunched lightly as the deer broke the surface of last night’s snowfall. _Closer,_ Jon thought, _just a little closer now._ Another pang of hunger shot through him as the deer came within ten feet, its eyes on the few sprigs of long grass that stuck up from the snow like tiny green fingers. The deer bent his head low, and Jon sprang forward. He felt his claws sink into warm flesh as the impact traveled up his body, could taste the blood running along his tongue as his mouth found the buck’s neck. In half a heartbeat the deer was dead, and Jon Snow was eating. Warm rivers of blood ran down the sides of his mouth as he ate with reckless abandon. Jon tore off a large chunk of raw meat and looked around the small copse of trees he was in. Tall, green soldier pines sang with the calls of what few birds remained. A pale sunrise marked the horizon. 

As Jon looked down at the deer to tear off a fresh chunk, he saw only a winding staircase. _The crypts,_ he thought. He was not wearing Ghost’s skin anymore, though he could still taste the blood on his lips. A torch was in his hand, and the stairs before him spiraled down into inky blackness. He took his first steps down as the whispering began. He knew what he would find at the bottom of these steps, and still he walked. He descended further and further, the whispers loud in their closeness to him. The Kings of Winter were with him, he knew, their accusations a gentle, constant note of hatred. _You do not belong here,_ they said, and no matter how many times had Jon told them otherwise the whispers persisted. His feet stayed at the entrance to one section. A lower section, one he’d never seen before. _Is this below the collapsed debris?_ The door to this part of the crypts was an open black maw, and still the old Kings spoke to him.

“Hello?” Jon called into the black. The simple word bounced down and across the sepulchers, twisting back to him as something grotesque and mocking. Jon stepped forward into the long, dark room. The light from his torch danced on the features of the old Kings and turned the placid faces of the wolves at their feet into ever shifting snarls of fury. He heard movement behind him, and turned to see the doorway back up had gone, replaced by more crypts. In both directions as far as Jon could see, he was surrounded by the long since dead. Jon walked down the line of crypts, the stone heads on either side of him turning to watch. He walked, on and on he walked. His legs were aching when he reached a large expanse of black that stood in place of two crypts. One he knew was for his father, the other for Lord Eddard’s sister, Lyanna. Jon’s torchlight would not reveal either tomb, though Jon thought he could hear a faint note of a harp playing from behind the ink black walls. A loud “QUARK” came from behind him, and Jon turned to see Lord Commander Mormont's raven perched on the direwolf that marked the tomb of his youngest brother, Rickon. 

“SNOW. SNOW. SNOW” The raven said, flying to his shoulder. The words echoed around him, a thousand ravens screaming his name from the dark corners of every tomb. Jon had not seen the bird since he left the Wall, though looking closer now it was clear this bird was not the Old Bear’s. _Mormont’s raven never had three eyes,_ Jon thought. It was only after the chorus of raven’s cries died down that Jon realized how quiet the crypts had become. _The whispering has stopped._ And in the terrible silence that stretched on either side of him, Jon could hear heavy footsteps coming from the open tomb behind him. 

Jon turned to the open tombs and reached for Longclaw, but his once burned hand closed around open air. _It’s gone,_ he thought. The thing shuffled out of the darkness towards him dragging its leg along the stones and reeking of decay. The smell hit him first, causing him to retch and drop his torch. The raven on his shoulder flew and settled on the ground in front of his Aunt’s open tomb, “KING. KING. KING. KING,” The raven quarked, hopping on the spot. “SNOW. KING SNOW. KING SNOW” it screamed as the corpse continued its terrible march towards him. The thing came within the light of Jon’s dropped torch, its visage a terror to behold. Eddard Stark’s face was emaciated, his hair a tangle of dirt and root with a jagged red line slashed across his throat. “You don’t belong here,” it said, reaching out to him with bloated purple hands. 

Jon pleaded with the spectre as it closed its hands upon him and tried to wrest him to the ground. The putrid stench of it filled his nostrils, making his eyes water as he struggled against the heavy weight of his lord father’s corpse. Jon fought, trying to get his father to release him so he could run, but Eddard Stark’s hands gripped him like a vice. A cold wind ripped through the crypts, chilling Jon to the bone. As he was pushed to the floor, Jon could hear the tombs of old Starks moving, could hear shuffling feet as the Kings of Winter left their tombs to come after him. Jon could see dozens of blue eyes in every direction, pale blue stars moving against a pitch dark sky. The raven continued to hop on the ground, “DEAD. DEAD. DEAD” it screamed. “KING. KING SNOW. KING SNOW.”

The wights swarmed him, and began to tear at his flesh. He could feel his life blood flowing from him as he lay there, the corpses hacking and pulling. His screams of pain and fury echoed down the crypt’s hallway, though no one came for him. His vision blurred as they tore at him, darkness creeped in at the corners. _It’s happened once, I’ve nothing to fear from it again_ he thought, as he slowly faded into the cold black.

Except he wasn’t dead. His vision returned slowly, fading from a dark, empty black to deep, royal blue. He was beneath the water, and he was hunting again. He had dived into the water for the large fish that now struggled against his massive jaws. He swam up now, breaching the surface of the water and throwing the fish high into the air. A jet of green flame shot from him, cooking the fish in an instant. He rose to meet the fish at its highest point, biting it in half with one snap of his teeth. The taste of seared flesh lingered after he swallowed. A mighty beat of his wings drew him higher towards the clouds. His brothers were close by, and so was his mother.

Jon awoke with a start, his breath catching in his chest. He ran a rough hand through his hair and steadied himself. _The damned nightmares again._ Ever since Jon had made his way back to his home, he had dreamt wolf dreams. He spent most of his nights ranging in Ghost’s skin, hunting for food. The wolf dreams were a part of him, but he hated his dreams of the crypts. _I shouldn’t be ruling here,_ he kept reminding himself. _I have no claim to Winterfell._ Jon got up from the bed and went grab the pitcher of water from the nearby table. He poured a little in to the small metal bowl, and splashed his face to clear away the last memories of those blue eyes shambling towards him from the darkness. A dream, they are nothing but dreams. When the Crypt dreams had left him he quickly drank a cup full of water. Though the water had been chilled by the air coming in the open window, it did little to remove the taste of seared fish still lingering in his mouth. Usually the dreams ended when the corpses pulled him down into that darkness he had seen only once before. _I’ve never flown in my dreams, and I’ve never been to that island._

Jon’s thoughts were interrupted by knocking on his chamber door. He covered himself before allowing in one of the small boys who served as Winterfell’s messengers. This one was a son of one of Lord Glover’s banner men, or so Jon would have guessed from the small mailed fist present on the boy’s tunics. “L-lady Sansa would like-like t-to see you, Your Guh-Grace,” he said, trembling head to foot. Jon gave him a small smile as he thanked him, and told the boy to have a rasher of bacon and hard bread ready for him to break his fast in the Great Hall. The boy, _Ethan,_ Jon remembered, _Ethan Glover_ , ran off to carry the message to the serving girls and cooks down in the kitchens. The Glovers had been quick to try and get back into their liege lord’s good graces after House Stark had taken Winterfell, volunteering serving girls and messengers at every opportunity. Many of the other Northern houses had done the same. _Some are more eager than I would like._

After Jon had finished dressing he left his chambers and made for the Great Hall. The castle was only beginning to stir as he made his way across the yard, though he could still hear the sound of metal on metal as the boys trained in the yard. _Boys and girls_ he reminded himself. His fingers flexed, an old habit he still hadn't shaken from Maester Aemon’s instructions for healing his burns. The fingers on his sword hand were stiff this morning, it had been several days since he had the last opportunity to train. Being a king had many duties which left him little time for sparring in the yard. 

As he crossed the yard the common folk stopped what they were doing to bow and call him “Your Grace.” He still wasn’t used to being called that. It didn't feel real to Jon, he still felt like he was waiting for the curtain to drop on this mummer’s farce. _They chose me to lead them, as my brothers did before them. How long until I find Manderly’s knife in my chest? Cerwyn’s? Glover’s?_ Jon tried to shake the doubts off him. _They’re different, things are different now._ Jon knew he hadn’t any reason to mistrust his leal lords, yet the betrayals he’s suffered before still lingered. _I may never be free of those doubts._

Everyone in the Great Hall rose as he entered, and remained standing until Jon had taken his place at the head table. A retinue of lord Cerwyn’s men were sat at the furthest end of the hall from him. Lords Glover and Norry were sat at a bench not too far from the head table with their own men. Lord Manderly sat closest of all of them, his large stomach keeping him a good foot and half from the table. Most all of the Manderly men were differing levels of fat, a sight that made him miss Samwell. Jon hoped Sam was doing well down at the Citadel, though he hoped more Sam would find some answers that could help him win the war against the Others. 

The bacon was crisp and fatty; the hard bread was warmed for him, though he knew it was not fresh. Jon had commanded the cooks and serving girls to treat him no differently than any other lord or common folk when it came to meals. The North had a long, hard winter ahead of them and extravagance for his meals wouldn’t help. Jon ate ravenously, his stomach still bearing the hunger of Ghost from his dream. As he got up after finishing his meal, his mind was on the meeting with Sansa that lay ahead of him. Jon knew what she would want to talk about, and he decided to head off the argument before it surfaced. 

“Lord Manderly,” Jon said, stopping at the head of the Merman’s table.

“Your Grace,” Manderly said, every man echoing their liege lord once they realized who was standing at the head of their table.

“Lord Manderly, I am sending you back to White Harbor,” Jon commanded.

“Y-your Grace, my place is here by your side. We need all the North together to fight the coming storm.” Manderly tried to argue, but Jon would not hear it. _Kill the boy._

“Your place, my lord, is where your King commands.” Jon said plainly. “We have need to protect all of the North. Euron Greyjoy has pledged his ships to Cersei Lannister. White Harbor is the most likely place they’d choose to attack.”

“I understand, Your Grace. I will be sad to go; I feel I won’t get these towers again before the Stranger takes me.”

Jon smiled at that. “I’m trusting you to defend our richest port. While you’re in White Harbor make sure your men fish as much as they can. Keep half there and send salted fish up the White Knife to Winterfell. We’ll be sure to send for you when we’re ready to fight.”

Jon turned and left the hall, heading back towards the Great Keep. Sansa would be in the Lord’s chambers, she so rarely left them these days. He didn’t like that as Sansa was usually cooped up there with Littlefinger, and Jon did not trust that man near his sister. Littlefinger had brought the Knights of the Vale to reclaim Winterfell so Jon held his tongue whenever possible, but he did not like lord Petyr hanging around and whispering poisoned words in Sansa’s ear.

Sansa was writing at a table when Jon arrived. He noted the absence of Lord Petyr and felt a weight settle off his mind. _The less I have to see the man, the more likely his head is to remain on his shoulders._ Sansa wore her usual high-necked dress and gloves, both in all black. The sigil of House Stark was emblazoned across her chest, and her eyes looked at him with their usual chill. 

“Jon,” she began as Jon sat across from her, “Have you considered any more of my proposal from yesterday?”

Proposal. The word didn’t sit right with him. Argument was more appropriate, though luckily it had been contained to his chambers, without the rest of the Northern lords present. _I have heard far too much of proposals as of late_ , Jon thought.

“I have. I ordered Lord Wyman back to White Harbor after breaking my fast. I’m going to order two hundred men down to guard Moat Cailin from an attack across the neck.” Jon said, confining his retort to his thoughts. “Should we send Lord Glover back to Deepwood Motte to protect the West from attack?”

Sansa’s expression was relieved as she looked back over the parchment in front of her. Jon could tell she was satisfied that he had followed her suggestion, but he sensed some further tension in her. 

“I don’t think so, Littlefinger believes he’d see it as a slight.” Sansa said. “It’s hard enough to justify sending the Manderly men back as they make up most of our fighting men since you sent the wildlings back to the Wall.”

“I sent Tormund and the Freefolk,” Jon said, emphasizing the word, “back to the Wall to keep watch for our enemy’s approach.”

“He can’t read nor write, Jon, none of them can. How do you expect to be sent notice if the Night King attacks?” Sansa asked, a flush creeping into her cheeks as her tone became as icy as the Milkwater. 

“There are still men of the Night’s Watch at Eastwatch, Cotter Pyke still has a maester and ravens.” Jon said in a tone that brokered no further argument. Sansa’s face slipped back into her expressionless mask, the same mask she wore when she dealt with the Lords and Ladies of the North. _She’s as jaded and suspicious as I am_ , Jon thought. 

“I want to talk with you about the raven we received yesterday,” Jon said.

Sansa gave him a strained look. “I know what you’re thinking Jon, but you can’t just go off to Dragonstone on the word of a Targaryen invader.”

“She has a large army at her back— “ 

“A large army that she threatened you with,” Sansa interrupted.

“Aye, but if I balked at threats I wouldn’t be here, would I?” Jon fired at her.

Anger flashed on Sansa otherwise calm face. “I know we need allies in this war, but this is madness and desperation, Jon,”

“Daenerys has a large army, aye, but her army consists of horse lords and eunuchs who’ve never seen snow, let alone survived a Northern winter. She won’t march this far North until Spring.” Jon said.

“If her army won’t fare well in a Northern winter why would she send them up here to aid us?”

“She’s come to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she can’t rule the Seven Kingdoms if everyone in them is dead” Jon said, trying to cool his blood.

Sansa’s face contorted briefly before she slipped back into her expressionless mask. “And what if she decides to fly her dragons North and melt us in our castle?”

Jon was caught and he knew it. He looked at his sister and felt his anger ebb away, a remnant of his night’s fitful sleep. “If it comes to that I’ll bend the knee, and name you Warden of the North,” He said with a heavy sigh. Sansa had opened her mouth to argue, but Jon cut her off. “You’re the last Stark in Winterfell, and no matter what the Northern lords say, you’re the one they’d want leading them.”

Sansa’s faced flushed a deep crimson at that. She smiled and thanked him, though he could see she bit back a retort. The rest of their conversation was polite, though Jon could still feel the phantom of their argument above their heads as they discussed everything from granaries to defensive strategy to meal rationing. It was mid-day before Jon left, making his way not towards the Great Hall to meal with his Lords and Sister, but for the dark, warm forest of the Godswood.

The smell of soldier pines and warm earth filled Jon’s nostrils as he crossed the threshold from the busy castle to the quiet of the Godswood. Coming here always seemed like a gateway to a different world, and now more than ever did Jon appreciate it. He walked on until he came to the great white weirwood that looked forlornly out over the still, black pool of water at the Godswoods center. Jon thought the face on the weirwood was weeping its red tears more than usual today. He pulled Longclaw from his scabbard, and knelt before the heart tree, uttering a short prayer to the Old Gods. 

Jon did not know how long he sat beneath the heart tree. Ghost found his way to Jon’s side after a time, the direwolf’s muzzle still slightly pink with blood. The wolf had continued to grow in size since they had retaken Winterfell and was fast approaching the size of a large warhorse. Ghost settled beneath the heart tree and slept, while Jon cleaned Longclaw and thought. It was here that Ser Davos found him, sword in hand, deep in thought staring at the still, black water.

“We missed you at the meal, your Grace.” Davos said, eyeing the wolf behind Jon. The Onion Knight was dressed in his usual plain garb, an old habit from his smuggling days, Jon knew. Davos was the closest person Jon Snow had as a regular advisor besides his sister. He supposed that made Davos his Hand, but Jon had never formerly bestowed the title on the man as Stannis had. His council was always wise and honest however, two qualities that made Jon want to keep the smuggler close. 

“I found the Old Gods to be more amiable company than my leal lords today,” Jon said, standing to greet the man while sheathing Longclaw.

“I reckon just one leal lord is proving less than amiable,” Davos said with a small laugh. Jon smiled at that while Davos continued, “Pardon, Your Grace, but isn’t it a good idea to give in to Manderly’s suggestion? It could help unite the North in the coming war, and for long beyond it. You’re a young man, you’ll have to wed eventually.”

Jon knew his advisor was right. The point of fighting the war was to have a life afterward, but Jon couldn’t think of any future that didn’t have the Night King. What was the point of marrying a Manderly if they would all be dead in years’ time?

“I cannot of such things now, Ser Davos. The dead are marching and I won’t make a promise I can’t uphold.” _And Lord Manderly still believes we can win this war, if he believes the story of the Others at all._ Jon knew his lords would follow him where so ever he commanded them, but they all acted as though this was just another war. As if the gates of everything they’ve ever known weren’t about to come crashing down around them if the dead made it past the wall.

“Fair enough, but would it hurt to at least tell Manderly you’ll consider his proposal? Seems he’d be much more beholden to our cause if the marriage he seeks is dependent on us surviving.” 

Jon knew Davos had the right of it, but it didn’t make him like the prospect any less. A king he may be, but he was still a bastard. Any children Jon might give to this faceless Manderly would have no claim over Winterfell as long as Sansa lived, and he did not want to threaten her claim to Winterfell. _I have no place here,_ he thought again, _I should not be ruling_. “I can talk to Lord Wyman before he leaves for White Harbor, but I’d like you there with me when I do. My...acceptance,” Jon emphasized the word with a bit of trepidation, “will have to be as uncommitted as possible.”

Davos nodded at his king’s words, but did not turn to leave. Davos looked at Jon, a strange look in his eye, for a moment before speaking up, “Begging your pardon, your Grace, but you seem more troubled than this business with Lord Manderly would suggest.”

“I am,” Jon said after a time, “I keep coming back to Lord Tyrion’s message. I can’t help but think we’re going about it wrong.” He had broached the subject with Davos before in the privacy of his own solar. Davos had suggested sending himself to Dragonstone to parlay with this Dragon Queen, but Jon didn’t think sending an emissary was a good idea. 

“You’re still thinking of going, then?” Davos asked.

“I can see no other way. If I can convince her to help us, her dragons may be what can win this war.”

“If we can’t convince her though, you’d be walking right into a prison cell on Dragonstone. How much use would you be to the North if you’re trapped in a cell in the South?”

Jon had no answer for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a very slow start, but it's pretty indicative of the pace moving forward. I wanted to establish most of how Jon was dealing with ruling before bringing him to Dragonstone, as well as touch on how much dying and being resurrected has effected him. Jon and Dany won't even meet until after the 3rd chapter of this work. I've got most every chapter at least outlined and planned up until the end of Season 7 (ish), and it'll be a good 15-20 chapters before the boatsex even happens. I can't guarantee this will have much smut, if any at all, but if there is any it won't be until after Jon and Dany are on that boat together. Please comment and kudo to let me know if you like the work so I know to keep working on it, and thanks in advance for reading!


	2. Davos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Jon and Davos leave for Dragonstone.

Ser Davos of House Seaworth stood on the bow of the large warship _Wolf’s Howl_ as a crisp, pale sunrise lit the eastern horizon. He was glad to be back at sea, though he could not say the same for his King standing beside him. Jon had looked ill all voyage, not from the deck swaying beneath him on the large, rolling waves but from the prospect of the first test of his short rule. The Narrow Sea was treacherous this time of year, and Davos was always alert for a coming storm. This proved a fruitless task, as the seas had been calm for a winter’s voyage. Their easy sea voyage stood a sharp contrast to the slow, painful march they made down along the White Knife towards White Harbor. The Manderly host had left several days before Jon, Davos, and a small retinue of Stark men had followed in their tracks. In a mere three days the party had reached the merman’s column. The snows greatly slowed travel and Lord Too Fat to Sit a Horse traveled in a wagon, which meant the path through the snows must be dug by hand.

Lord Manderly didn't mind the long journey. He had regaled the King with long winded tales of his granddaughters’ beauty, of the importance and riches of White Harbor, and of the ships constructed there. The large warship they know sailed on was highest of Manderly’s praise, even over his own granddaughters that he hoped to convince the King to wed. A gray and white striped hull with a figurehead of a leaping wolf with red-jeweled eyes. The ship had been made during the previous King in the North’s rule, when Jon’s half-brother Robb had ordered Lord Wyman to construct a fleet at White Harbor. It was the largest of a fleet of fifty, which allowed Jon a hold at controlling the Northern shores. 

The journey from Winterfell had taken over a fortnight, and Davos had seen Jon’s mood grow more sour with each passing large feast that Lord Manderly had laid out for every meal. The final straw had come at the leaving feast in the Merman’s Hall, when Jon was once again reminded of White Harbor’s wish to join with Winterfell. Davos knew Jon was ready to have his back to White Harbor, even if it meant sailing South into the mouth of a dragon. _The King is nervous,_ Davos had thought. _Truth be told Davos was nervous too. A man has a right to be scared of dragons._

In truth, Davos didn’t know whether it was the dragons he feared meeting or the people on Dragonstone who onced pledged themselves to a different king. Several lesser houses still remained loyal to Dragonstone, not all had perished on the Blackwater or on Stannis’ campaign in the North. _Celtigar, Velaryon, Bar Emmon. Some still have sons, and those sons will rule now. No doubt they’ll have bent the knee to the dragons. What will they say of the upjumped smuggler who now sides with a rebel king?_ Davos was certain neither he nor Jon wanted to find out.

He had heard tales of the Dragon Queen when he was on Dragonstone years ago. Reports would fly in from the East telling tales of the Mother of Dragon’s crusade to conquer the cities of Slaver’s Bay. The reports weren’t given much thought, a Targaryen conquest on the other side of the world was of no business to Stannis’ campaign for the Iron Throne. The Unsullied and dragons Davos had heard before, but the hundred thousand strong Dothraki horde had not been in the reports. _They called Viserys Beggar King in pot shops and brothels across the seas, and Daenerys was like to have less. Maybe there is power in Targaryen blood, if she has managed to acquire all these armies in a few years time._

Davos no longer denied the power in blood, the man standing beside him was proof enough of that. Of all the things Davos had seen in his long life, watching Jon Snow rise from that table in Castle Black was the one that changed him more than any other. _She spoke of the Prince who was Promised, she brought him back._ The Red woman did many other things too, things that still brought a murderous bent to the old smuggler’s heart. 

His first King had allowed the Red Woman to poison his mind, his current King showed her the gift of mercy. Stannis wouldn’t have allowed Melisandre to live if she had burned one of his lord’s children, and there would have been a worse punishment for the lord who allowed it happen. _I suppose that lord would be me. I should have rid Stannis of that poison after the Blackwater._ Davos would bear the mark of his failure as he once bore his finger bones, and he instinctively squeezed the pouch at his hip, feeling the burnt wood beneath the cloth.

The deck behind Davos and the King had more movement on it as the sun cleared the horizon to begin it’s long march. The crew was made up of Manderly men who worked alongside the Stark men that came with them from Winterfell. The ship’s captain was a slender and grizzled sailor who went by the name of Silver Tongued Rick, so named for his ability to talk his way into any port in the known world, and for his ability to talk down the price of any whore in any port in the known world. Silver Tongue had told them they would arrive around midday on the morrow, saying they’ll hold the ship offshore for as long as the King and Davos required to treat with the Targaryen girl.

“Sun down tonight could be the last sunset we’ll ever see. We should make sure to be on the deck to see it.” The King’s words shook Davos from his thoughts. It was a jest he knew, but he could hear the apprehension beneath the words.

“Aye, Your Grace, but I don’t think she’ll be as like to kill us as you’re believing.” Davos said. 

The King said nothing in return.

“Just remember your courtesies, Your Grace, and all should be fine. As powerful as she is, she knows she needs allies to hold power. She isn’t like to want a Northern rebellion on top of her problems in the South.” Davos said into the silence that stretched between them.

“Anyone else I would have to treat with? Daenerys might not ally with us, but perhaps Dorne or the Reach?” Jon asked.

“From Lord Baelish’s reports all the Queen’s Westerosi allies have been sent back to the mainland to begin their war. Dragonstone should be mostly uninhabited, outside of the Dothraki.”

Jon’s face twisted at those words. He didn’t trust Littlefinger, Davos knew, and it was hard to blame him. _The man has survived a long time at court, and only the foulest of snakes survive that long._ Littlefinger had warned them that Lord Varys had sided with Daenerys as well. _No doubt he has spies in the North. I wonder what he has learned._ More importantly Davos wondered what the Spider had believed of the tales coming out of the North when he had trouble believing them. _If Daenerys has heard of the coming war she may prove easier to persuade to our cause._

Davos kept his expectations checked, however. The news of the army of the dead would be a hard bite to chew in the best of times, and with the kingdoms in the midst of yet another war their chances were slim. _I must give weight to my King’s words, help this Dragon Queen understand the danger that marches on us from beyond the Wall._

The rest of the morning passed as many others before it had with Jon and Davos in their quarters poring over books, maps, and charts. Davos had taken to reading up on sieges of Winterfell from old books pulled from Maester Wolkan’s libraries. What books didn’t get burned from the Boltons sacking of Winterfell were few and far between, and only a chestful had managed to be relevant to their needs. Jon grew restless after several hours, and went outside clutching the several sparring swords that had accompanied the books on their journey. Davos contented himself to keep reading, a habit he had gotten into while he stayed at the King’s side, emerging an hour later to find the King sparring against two of his Stark bannermen.

Jon’s sword raised up to block a blow from the man on the right, then he pivoted to and used a two handed downward cut to block the blow coming from his front. Davos saw he was wielding the blunted bastard blade the smiths in Winterfell had made to mimic his Valyrian steel sword, Longclaw. The two Stark bannermen, one taller and barrel chested, the other of a height with the King but with a rather large belly, attacked again and again to no avail. Jon danced around them blocking and parrying the blows, the entire time a smile curving the edges of his mouth. 

Stannis’, Davos reflected, would not have been seen training like this with the men who followed him. He had preferred to train with quartermasters and knights. The Stark men Jon trained with currently were no more than lowly bannermen that had volunteered to escort their King on his journey to Dragonstone. Most had no family names, were of low birth, and of low training, yet Jon still trained with them. _It is a result of his bastard birth. He would not have had an easy time growing up a Lord’s bastard, let alone the most famous bastard in the Seven Kingdoms. These were the men he was commonly around._

Bastards were a common sight in the Seven Kingdoms. Most Houses had bastards in them, but none were as well known as the Bastard of Winterfell. Jon was a reminder for the realm to jape that the honorable Ned Stark was as human as the rest of them. _He reminds me of Lord Eddard more than any of his trueborn children though._ Davos had seen Eddard Stark only once, when he had journeyed with Stannis to White Harbor after his wedding to visit the North. Lord Eddard had come down with his wife and two eldest children to give his congratulations, leaving quickly the morning after the feast. _The boy Robb and his sister Sansa had the same Tully look about them, and the auburn hair of their mother. Jon has the Stark look about him._

The fight in front of Davos ended and Jon was correcting one of the man’s moves, telling him where to place his feet and pivot his body. _The King likes teaching fighting as much as he does fighting itself._ He and Jon knew that any training they could do before the Great War came they would have to, as every sword would be needed. The sparring ended after several more matches, some with Jon standing to the side and calling out corrections ad others where Jon got back in the ring. Jon was smiling openly by the end, happy to see the progress the men had made on the short week’s voyage.

In celebration of the final night aboard the ship, the King had ordered a new cask of ale to be tapped with dinner. This brought a cheer from the men on the ship, who proceeded to drink as if they were headed to the hangman’s noose the next morning. The King didn’t drink much, but stayed and laughed at the men’s jests and boasts, toasting when they toasted and sipping when their tankards went bottom’s up. Eventually most trickled out, but the King and Davos still remained while a small circle of men continued to drink and speak. Jon didn’t sleep well at sea, Davos knew, and it appeared he didn’t want to stay confined to their quarters.

“What of you, My King? Who was your first?” Silver Tongue said from the benches below the King’s table. The King stirred from his own revelry, looking bemused.

“My first what?” he asked Rick, and Davos could see the King was reluctant to answer.

“Why, your first kill of course!” Rick had answered back. Davos saw Jon’s body relax a little, knowing the conversation wasn’t about to dwell to the wildling girl Davos had seen him burn North of the Wall. Jon was looking Silver Tongue Rick in his eyes, the King’s grey connecting with Rick’s watery blue. 

“Qhorin Halfhand was the first man I killed, if you don’t count wights.” Jon said after a moment. A pointed silence met his words.

“The Halfhand?” one of the Stark men asked. “Wasn’t he a member of the Night’s Watch?”

Davos felt the air stiffen in the room. The king spoke a quiet “Aye. He ordered me to kill him. I had to earn the Freefolk’s trust in order to infiltrate Mance Rayder’s army.”

This seemed to disquiet the Manderly men more than the Stark men, who had no doubt heard the tale in the camps and amongst the small folk. Jon’s reputation as the stalwart defender of the North had not always been so absolute. Many at Castle Black had not liked the boy, and a few had gone far as to kill him. That was a rumor that Davos did not hear nearly as often. Sometime’s in the taverns of the Winter Town surrounding Winterfell Davos had heard the whispers when the men were deep into their cups. None spoke of it to the King though, and once they would realize who was sitting near them Davos would hear no more of what men thought transpired on those dark days at the Wall.

The rest of the men left eventually to pass out in their cots, leaving the King to sit with Davos in the growing darkness of the ship’s galley. “We should get some sleep, your Grace. It would do us well to be rested for the morrow,” Davos said.

“You go, I want to head on deck for a bit to get some air before I retire.” Jon said as he stood up and headed out the door to the deck. Davos went to their cabin alone. When he got there he removed the pouch from his hip and placed it on a small table next to his bed. As he lay in the darkness, Davos felt like a knight in one of the stories the Princess Shireen had read him while he wasted away in that Dragonstone prison. _The Onion Knight and The King in the North off to parlay with the Dragon Queen_ he thought as his mind drifted off. Davos slept soundly, and it was only when he woke that he realized the King had never come back to the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there! Next chapter is Dany and I've got a good portion of it written already so it will probably come out quicker than this chapter did. Davos is a lot of fun to write as he's a very good detached observer. As always, kudo and comment to let me know you like the work, thanks for reading!


	3. Daenerys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter takes place the day Jon Snow is set to arrive on Dragonstone.

Voices were echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings of the throne room where Daenerys Targaryen sat in court. _This feels no different than Meereen. Same words, different tongues_ she thought. She had come to Dragonstone half a hundred days ago, and had been without her main allies for most of that time. The Greyjoy fleet had left to ferry the Dornish armies to King’s Landing a moon’s turn ago. The Unsullied had left a fortnight after that, and still Dany was sitting on Dragonstone holding court. Missandei was standing in her usual spot in the throne room, looking as distracted as the Queen felt. _She misses Grey Worm. Even I miss Grey Worm._

Below her stood Lord Bar Emmon, a young, round-faced boy of fifteen. Before him had been Lord Rambton, a vassal lord to Sweetport Sound, and before him had been the Lady Joanna Celtigar of Claw Isle. All had spoken at length of their loyalty to the Targaryens during Robert’s Rebellion and had come to give her her queenly due. Their chief gifts were ships, as Dragonstone was historically the seat of the crowns naval power. _I needed ships when I was in Essos, and now that I’m here they are given to me one after the other. The gods are laughing at me._

Lord Tyrion had spoken for her after the young lord stopped talking, thanking for their loyalty and the gift of Targaryen tapestries, hidden away by the Bar Emmon’s before Stannis had taken command after the Mad King’s death. Dany thanked them as well and called off court for the morning, wishing to be alone to clear her head. She exited through a passageway behind the throne leading to the Painted Chamber. Small figurines carved in the likeness of wolves caught her eye as she walked past the large wooden map, reminding her the King in the North would be the next visitor in her throne room. _It’s no more my throne than the seat in the Great Pyramid was. My real throne lies to the Southwest._

In truth Dany wasn’t as fond of Dragonstone as she would have hoped. The castle had been the seat of Targaryen power before Aegon fused the Seven Kingdoms into one and it bore the design of Old Valyria. Though the halls were now cleaned, the braziers lit, and the sound of voices could be heard when she walked through it Dany still found the castle oppressive. The large, cavernous rooms had a certain heaviness to them; a type of seriousness that was all together familiar and foreign at the same time. _This is supposed to feel like home,_ she thought. But standing on the balcony with the island stretching out before her, Dany had never felt more alone.

Meereen and the cities of Slaver’s Bay were never a home to her, that much she knew. Vaes Dothrak was no home to her either. The only place she could have ever considered a home was the house with the red door in Braavos. She had no other wish for the longest time but to go back there. For her and Viserys to go back to the house with the red door and live out the rest of their days. But Viserys was vain and cruel, and would not give up his quest for the throne for anything, least of all his sister’s wishes. Now he was dead, and Dany carried on the duty of house Targaryen alone. She was stuck here on this small island, the very same island that Aegon the Conqueror had made first landfall. Except where Aegon came with three dragons and two sisters, Daenerys came with only three dragons and herself. 

A sharp cold wind picked up and cut through her clothes like a knife. _It’s too damned cold here,_ she thought as she walked back inside the map room. If she could have brought one comfort from Meereen to Westeros, she would have the climate. She was a Targaryen, she was the blood of the dragon, and these winds chilled her to the bone. The cold winds driving down from the North and the warmer winds heading East across the Narrow Sea helped fuel storms similar to the one that raged while she was born. _It’s fitting my return was marked by the same storms as my birth._ The warmer winds from the East were gone now, just leaving the biting wind pouring down from the North. The same wind that propelled Jon Snow towards her island.

She stood at the foot of the table and looked out over the great wooden map her ancestor had made. Dany began to wonder if this King in the North would be as cold as the winds that bothered her. She had known little of the North outside her history books, though she knew they had a wild reputation. Some in the South had considered the Starks to be made of ice, to be as hard and uncouth as the land they ruled. She knew from looking at Aegon’s map that the size of the North was equal to the size of the other six kingdoms combined. This Jon Snow, this usurper, had managed to take half her kingdom from her, and she was not like to forget it soon. 

Her inward thoughts were interrupted as the door to the map room was opened. Tyrion waddled in, followed closely by Varys. “Forgive us, your Grace. We were making sure everyone was ready to receive our guests when they arrive today.” Tyrion said.

“And did you find all the preparations suitable?” Dany asked.

“As suitable as we can, the halls of Dragonstone are not known for their comfort or unimposing décor.” Tyrion said said with a smile.

“How many rooms will the King be requiring? Did he say what kind of council he is bringing?”

Varys answered her. “We’ve only prepared one chamber. The King only has one advisor that he’s bringing with him from his message, and most of the Northmen will be content to stay on the boat apparently. I don’t think they expect a long stay here.”

“You say you know this Jon Snow, Lord Tyrion,” she said, sitting down at the end of the table that was carved in the likeness of Dorne.

“I do, your Grace. I traveled with him to the Wall when he was a recruit to join the Night’s Watch,” he said, sitting at a seat closest to the Westerlands as Varys took a chair closest to the Vale of Arryn. “Our time together was brief, I’ll admit, but he’s a good lad. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He may be bastard, but he reminded me of his father more than Lord Eddard’s trueborn children did.” His words gave the impression that such a comparison was a mark of praise. 

“Lord Eddard who helped Robert Baratheon kill my brother and destroy my family?” Dany asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The very same, but Jon Snow has more of his father’s good qualities than the usurping ones.”

Dany’s eyebrow raised at that. “We are speaking of the man who declared himself ruler of half my kingdom?”

Tyrion glanced at Varys before answering, “The reports are different than you may think, your Grace.” 

“It’s hard for me to think of it otherwise. Five of my seven kingdoms are against me, and the son of the man who helped destroy my family will be here within the day.”

Varys spoke up before Tyrion could “Your grace, the King in the North did not get that way by choice. He was chosen by his bannermen to be their King.”

Dany considered the eunuch carefully. She had every reason to distrust this man before her. Indeed, he had been a key part of almost every assassination attempt she had survived throughout her childhood. His help had delivered her Dorne and the Reach however, so she was content to let him tend to his whispers for the time being. _I suppose I can’t fault Jon Snow for accepting something he’d never wanted._ “What do they say about Jon Snow in the North, Lord Varys?” She asked.

“The whispers are many and varied, your Grace. When he was at Castle Black, he was either a valiant hero, or an oath breaking traitor. When he left Castle Black, he was either a bastard further betraying his Night’s Watch vows, or Lord Eddard come again to avenge the Red Wedding and retake his sister’s birthright. Bastards are rarely trusted in the Seven Kingdoms, and their reputations tend to be fickle things.” Varys said.

“Which do you think is the truth?”

“As always, your Grace,” he said, “The truth lies somewhere in the middle. What is not disputed is that he is a great warrior and a fair ruler. Everywhere from the Neck to the Wall he is talked of for his skill with a blade. He is said to have slew more than a hundred men retaking Winterfell, that he faced a charge of mounted horse singlehanded. Some more fanciful tales speak of him riding to battle on the back of his great direwolf, as his half-brother was rumored to do at the Whispering Wood. There are small folk who swear he can change into a wolf when his wrath is upon him, and that he savages his enemies. Others say he even had giants help him, though none can truly say where the giants are now the battle is over.”

Daenerys smiled slightly at the thought. “The smallfolk are always willing to embellish a tale, I suppose. Lord Tyrion,” She said, turning to her Hand, “What do you remember of his temperament? I’d hate to think I’d invited a shape changing wolf here without being forewarned.” She said with a slight smile.

“I don’t remember him being a shape changer, your Grace,” Tyrion said with a laugh, “but I do remember him as a very serious boy. He is prone to all sorts of fits of brooding silence. He is a fast friend, however, and once you’ve earned his loyalty or his word he is not one to throw it away so quickly.”

Dany lapsed into a silence as she looked at the vast painted table in front of her. Tyrion had traveled with this man when he joined the Night’s Watch, which was represented by a series of castles dotting the thin wall that rose up at the far end of the table. _I’ve never given much thought to the Wall. Ser Jorah’s father was there, he said once._ The thought made her miss the old knight, though a curious connection came to her.

“Lord Tyrion, what are the full Night’s Watch vows?” She asked.

“Oh, there’s this and that. ‘I am the shield that guards the realms of men’” He said in a tone of mock bravado. “A fair bit about horn blowing, wall watching, swords in the darkness, swearing to defend the realm from all manner of grumpkins and snarks—“

“I beg your pardon?” Dany interrupted. “What are grumpkins and snarks?”

Tyrion and Varys exchanged a glance before bursting into fits of laughter. Dany’s felt like a child when they both acted like this. There were things she didn’t know and that’s why she had advisors to tell her. Her displeasure must have shown on her face as Tyrion spoke, “Forgive us, your Grace. But those are just children’s stories. Scary monsters that come out of the night and attack little children. They are nothing more than stories told by wet-nurses to keep children from misbehaving.”

Dany felt a little better about that. Though she wondered what the point of having a great big wall was if there was nothing to fear on the other side of it. “What else is in the vows, Lord Tyrion?”

“The parts most remembered are usually the words about earning no crowns, fathering no children, and it being until death.”

“It is a dreary group indeed, your Grace,” Varys added. “It’s ranks consist mostly of former rapers, thieves, and murderers now. Though a few brave and honorable men can still be found there from time to time.”

“Was Jon Snow one of the thieves or was he one of the honorable ones?” Dany asked, noticing the quick change in the conversation. _The Spider is hiding something._

“He was, unfortunately, one of the ones who went there to find honor.” Tyrion said. “His family did not adequately prepare him for what the Night’s Watch had become. He was bastard born and he would never find a place staying at Winterfell where he wasn’t welcome.” 

A brief pang of sympathy shot through Dany’s heart at hearing these words. She could sympathize with this man who seemed to have not been welcome in his own home. _Though he had a home for a time. And another after he was kicked out of the first. He had a family._ Dany pushed the feeling aside. _I cannot falter to the lords of Westeros, they will not allow me any weakness._

“Tell me, Lord Varys,” Tyrion said, “you said a fair ruler sails into Dragonstone today? Do the common folk truly love their ruler as fiercely as those who follow our Queen?”

“Oh he is an honorable ruler, my Lord Hand. The smallfolk speak of his honesty and virtue. He is gentle where he needs to be, and harsh when he must. He doesn’t seem to be interested in war, as he’s had most of the North’s forces at Winterfell. They appear to be preparing for a march North of all places.”

“North?” Dany asked. “Why would he go further North?”

“Oh it is hard to say. He’s no longer appears to be a man of the Night’s Watch, so he has no reason to go back to the Wall. Yet that’s the place all my little birds whisper he is preparing to go. Before we sent for him, he sent the remainder of his Wildling forces to Eastwatch by the Sea, and garrisoned more men at Castle Black as well. He took Winterfell back from the Boltons but doesn’t seem to want to hold it,” Varys said.

Dany pondered that for a moment. He didn’t appear to be interested in conquest of the rest of her kingdoms, and he didn’t seem terribly concerned with securing his Southern borders either.

“You seem to be fairly curious about our visitor, your Grace. Have you given any thought to what I proposed?” Tyrion asked her, a glint in his eye.

Dany remembered all too well the conversation she had with her Hand the previous day. Tyrion had cautioned her about her desire to make the King in the North swear fealty. Tyrion had suggested that she ally herself with the Northman for the time being, to lull him into a false sense of security before she can convince him to join her cause. “If he refuses to be your subject, you would have greater success treating him as an equal, for the time being. The northerners are very prickly, and most likely they will not wish to submit themselves to a Southern ruler so soon after declaring themselves ruled by a Northman.” He counseled. 

 

Dany straightened as she spoke, “I will remember your words, but I will not allow this man to defy me in mine own court.”

Tyrion’s face turned grave and somber. “Your Grace,” he said, “it would be best not to speak of what is owed to you as a ruler. Jon Snow has little use for the trappings of leadership if Varys little birds are to be believed, and he has no reason to love the Targaryens, let alone ally himself with one who demands his allegiance.”

“What would you have me do, then?” she asked, the heat in her blood rising.

“Make common cause with him, make him see why you are the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Find a way to earn his loyalty and you will have an ally as fierce as any, and another general for your armies. It would also be good,” he added, a note of trepidation in his voice, “to find a way to make peace about the crimes your family has committed against his own.”

Dany didn’t like that, though she had an idea about the types of crimes that had been committed. “My father?” she asked, dreading the answer to the question.

“Indeed,” Tyrion said. “your father burned Jon’s grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark, alive, while his own son watched. Jon’s uncle Brandon could have freed his father and saved his life, if he hadn’t been tied by the neck. I’m told the struggle to reach the sword laid before him led to the young lord strangling himself in the throne room of the Red Keep.” 

Dany’s anger flared at that. _The ghost of my father will haunt me for the rest of my days here_ she thought. “If the subject were to come up, I will offer my regrets on behalf of my house.” She said, seeing Tyrion’s shoulders relax as she said it. He thanked her and she dismissed both he and Lord Varys, asking them to send the Lady Melisandre to her. Varys exchanged a worried glance with Lord Tyrion as they left. They were suspicious of the Red Woman, and Dany could not blame them. She had met few people who exude an aura of power as Melisandre of Asshai.

When Lady Melisandre arrived Daenerys had moved further into the chamber away from the balcony. The fire was blazing in the hearth next to her, the servants of the castle having added logs until it was roaring to attempt to combat that cold Northern wind. The Red Woman’s robes seemed to drink in the flame’s light as she entered the chamber, sitting at Dany’s invitation in a chair a few feet from her. Her copper hair hung straight around a face as pale as milk. “Thank you for coming, Lady Melisandre,” Dany said.

“Your Grace commands and I obey,” She said, her voice filled with a dusky music. “Though I must confess, you have summoned me as I was preparing to leave Dragonstone.”

“Leave?” Dany asked. It was only at the Red Woman’s suggestion that Dany had summoned the King in the North. _She tells me to bring him here and she leaves before he can arrive._

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace, but I have been summoned back to Volantis, I must speak with the worshippers of R’hllor. I must tell them of all I have seen here.” 

“You must stay to meet with the King in the North,” Dany said in a tone that brokered no argument, “it is only by your counsel that we summoned him here.”

Lady Melisandre averted her eyes, gazing into the roaring fire. Dany could see trepidation and guilt in those eyes. _She is hiding something as well_.

After a moment, she spoke up, “The King in the North and I did not part on the best terms. The king’s advisor and I on worse. I would do Your Grace a disservice by being amongst your court.”

Their eyes met briefly, and Dany could see the truth in her words. _What have you done to draw the ire of the King in the North?_

“Why would you tell me to summon a man who intends you ill?” Dany asked. _Does she intend for me to kill him?_

“He is ice, and you are fire. I have seen you both in my flames, fighting the greatest enemy,” Melisandre said. A gust of heat came off the fire as a log shifted, blowing the smell of cloves and spices from Melisandre to Dany. _She speaks of an enemy, is this the reason Jon Snow has sent his armies North?_ Daenerys was no believer of R’hllor but she remembered the Red Priestess’ speaking of the enemy who they would not name. _Is this more talk of the Darkness?_

“You must have been speaking to my hand if you think me to ally with this Jon Snow,” Dany said with a smile.

Lady Melisandre did not smile, instead she fixed her amber eyes on Dany’s violet. Dany heard the fire quiet beside her, felt the heat grow as the Red Woman’s eyes continued to stare into her soul. _I can see where the priests of R’hllor get their mystique. Her magic is powerful and she wields it like a knight wields a blade._

“If I may, Your Grace, what do you know of the lands beyond the Wall?” She asked.

“Little. If I remember correctly, my kingdoms end at the Wall, so I wasn’t very concerned with what lies beyond.” Dany answered.

“The Wall is a place of immense power, it is undeniable. I could feel it’s greatness flow through me when I was there,” She said. As she spoke her words, the fire in the hearth seemed to leap and jump, brighter and hotter than before. _She is trying to scare me. But she cannot scare the blood of the dragon._ As the flames danced more fervently, Lady Melisandre continued, “The one you know as Jon Snow has lived at the Wall for many years. He was the Lord Commander and was responsible for the realms defense. He has been beyond the Wall, and what he has seen there has changed him. If the Wall has power, it is nothing compared to what lies beyond. Jon Snow has glimpsed and fought that power, at a great personal cost.”

The Red Woman’s words were icy drops of water making their way down Dany’s spine. Despite the heat of the fire next to her she had to suppress a shudder. Dany was beginning to feel apprehensive about the man who would be here in a few hours time. “You and Lord Varys do craft quite a tale of the man,” Dany said. 

Lady Melisandre smiled briefly at her as she stood. “There is a great power in him, the same power that resides in you. You would do well to heed his words,” she said before she turned and left the room, leaving only the scent of cloves hanging in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's certainly about time!
> 
> Dany's got some expectations about this mysterious man known as Jon Snow, I wonder if he'll live up to the hype?
> 
> Next chapter is Tyrion and he'll have some things to reflect on after his re-uniting with Jon Snow, he may even go to seek a spider for answers. His chapter should be the last of the "set up" chapters, and the plot (and romance) should be moving on after that (i.e. actually going somewhere)
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who's kept up with the story so far, it really is your encouragement and love that keeps this going.   
> As always, kudo and comment to let me know what you thought, and the next chapter should be out next week!


	4. Tyrion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Tyrion speaks with Jon and Dany about the dragonglass, but before Dany meets with Jon to tell him he can mine the dragonglass. The previous Dany chapter, this chapter, and the next chapter all take place on the same day.

The stairs seemed to go on forever. There were dozens of sets of stairs in the large, bleak castle of Dragonstone and Tyrion Lannister felt as if he had climbed them all. Gods I am tired, he thought as he came upon yet another steep, twisting stair. _Why in the Seven Hells are my quarters at the top of all these damned stairs?_ The Targaryen fortress had few habitable rooms compared to the Red Keep, and Tyrion had been put at the top of one tall tower. His quarters were larger than every other person’s besides the Queen’s, whose lavish chambers sat several floors below where he now stood. 

Their meeting with Jon Snow had gone sourly, ending prematurely when Varys had brought whispers of great import. The Queen was upset at the news of the Greyjoy attack, though she thankfully didn’t let it show on her face before she had Jon Snow escorted from the throne room. Tyrion had seen that look in her eyes several times before, and most of those occasions had ended with her living up to House Targaryen’s words. Tyrion was glad that she hadn’t. The North would be prickly enough to any Southern ruler, let alone one that kept the family tradition of killing Stark men. _Jon Snow should be thankful she didn’t kill him. Damn the man. Stubborn and honorable as his father._

In truth, the news of the attack on the Greyjoy fleet bothered Tyrion less than how poorly their meeting with the King in the North had gone. Lady Olenna had called her banners and brought most of the Reach’s armies to Highgarden and the Unsullied still sailed for Casterly Rock. He had faith in his plans, and he wouldn't let one misstep get in the way. He had hoped that an alliance with the North would have been as easy to secure as the Reach, but that was before he saw how much Jon Snow had changed in their time apart. 

Tyrion climbed and climbed, the muscles in his stunted legs screaming with every step. He ached for a bath, for a glass of wine, to bathe in hot, spiced wine and never leave. After several stops to catch his breath he finally managed to push open the door to his solar, only to see it was presently occupied. “The last spider I found in my chambers I flattened with a piece of parchment,” Tyrion said. Lord Varys tittered from a low stool behind a table in the corner, a cup in his hand. 

“You will need a rather large sheaf of parchment, my Lord Hand,” Varys said with a chuckle. “Though you must know this sweet red from the Arbor is like to attract company if you keep it stored up here.”

“I had hoped to save that for a rather trying day, and here I find you drinking it before I even get the slightest taste,” Tyrion pointed out, a small smile twisting on his face. All around his outer chamber were large comfortable chairs, tables scattered with raven scrolls, and a large stone hearth carved in the likeness of a roaring dragon. Tyrion took a chair at the same table Varys sat at, his nose catching the whiff of warm meat, hard cheeses, fruit, and the earthy broth of some kind of stew laid on the table. As he plopped down on a velvet covered chair Varys poured him a healthy measure of wine.

“Today was a hard day, my Lord. I am glad to see you alive and not a small pile of ash out in the fields.” Varys said before taking a generous sip of wine. “Though truth be told, you bore the brunt of the Queen’s wrath more than I did.”

“She doesn’t seem too keen to kill the messenger I suppose,” Tyrion said darkly through a mouthful of cheese and sweet wine.

“Indeed,” Varys said. “Though I would think she liked her meeting with the King in the North less than the news I brought her.”

“You’d be right in that,” Tyrion said as he took a large bite of a peach, juice running down the sounds of his mouth. He wiped his hand on the back of a sleeve and pulling the plate of venison towards him. “There is hope now though. We have, for the time, a ceasefire of hostilities between the two of them.”

Varys didn’t look surprised. _No doubt he already knows. Whispers travel faster when they are right in the Spider’s lair._ Around two hundred former slaves now stayed in the castle as servants, cooks, guards, and messengers. Tyrion had around twenty informers from those former slaves and doubtless Varys had forty of his own as well as half who claimed to be Tyrion’s. “What price did our Queen have to pay for such ceasefire?” He asked.

“As it turns out, we have been sitting on top of the North’s most valuable resource, one that Jon Snow wishes to have,” Tyrion answered between mouthfuls of venison.

“It seems the Dragonglass enticed the King in the North just as much as the Dragon Queen, if not more,” Varys said, smiling. “The North had been buying Dragonglass in great quantities before the King sailed for us, but it is a queer thing to seek. Most who know of it don’t keep it, for they don’t think it valuable. Yet the King in the North has traded most all of the North’s small supply of gold for every scrap he could find.”

“We are not using it ourselves, so it was no trouble to give it to him. It’s of no use for our war with my sister.”

“And how did the Queen feel about giving Jon Snow something after he openly defied her in open court?” Varys asked pointedly.

“She doesn’t appear to be swayed by his warnings, yet saw the sense in a gesture of good faith. I managed to keep him on the island as well, he was ready to sail back North,” Tyrion said after a healthy swallow of wine.

A look of surprise flashed across Varys’ face before vanishing just as quickly. _A rare thing to outwit the Spider, yet all the sweeter because it was mine own doing._ He had hoped the King in the North would stay for some time. Tyrion wouldn’t tell the King where to find the Dragonglass. _Let him spend all year searching for it on this island._

“One could be mistaken for questioning your loyalties my dear Lord Hand,” Varys said with a chuckle. “You serve the Queen, yet you’ve invited a rebel lord to stay in the keep with her.”

“Jon Snow is not so great a fool to think he’d leave this island alive if anything should happen to our Queen, and as I understand it she’s been surrounded by more dangerous men in her time,” Tyrion said dismissively, wiping his chin before digging into the meal once more.

“I must confess after hearing all the whispers from the North about him, Jon Snow does seem to disappoint. He looks like the Starks, aye, but he seems to have none of their temper.”

“He had more when he was younger, his time amongst the Night’s Watch must have cooled him more than I thought possible,” Tyrion pointed out. And cool him it has. He had seen it the moment Jon had stepped out of the boat. He held himself in the same unassuming way of a bastard but there was a quiet assurance there, like a wolf waiting to pounce. _Something has changed in his eyes. He looks older, yet something else stirs in that head that wasn’t there before._

“Is that what you think chilled the temper of our guest?” Varys asked simply, sipping from his cup as he did. _He knows something, Tyrion thought._

“What else could it be? He spent his time amongst the worst of the Seven Kingdoms and ventured beyond the Wall. I only glimpsed the lands beyond from the top of the Wall and that soured my demeanor for a fortnight.” _I will play this game, Varys, if for no other reason that to wriggle the information out of you._

“Oh there are curious whispers from the North about our honorable visitor, My lord. Curious and strange. I’m not even sure if I can believe them myself.”

_He really is going to make me ask._ “Would those whispers have to do with how he left the Night’s Watch? I noticed you drove the conversation away from that particular topic when speaking with our Queen before the disastrous meeting that took place this afternoon.” Tyrion said, pushing aside the hunk of venison and pulling the stew towards him.

Varys leaned forward, grabbing the pitcher and refilling Tyrion’s cup before topping his own off. “Would you believe that even I don’t know how that came to be?” Varys asked. 

_Not bloody likely,_ Tyrion thought. “A man as well informed as you? Surely you are jesting,” he said. 

 

“In fact, there are very few who know how exactly Jon Snow was relieved of his command at Castle Black with his honor intact. Those who seem to speak loudest of it are not, err, reliable sources of information,” Varys said conspiratorially.

Tyrion’s curiosity was piqued. Deciding that he was hungrier for the information Varys was dangling above him than the hearty stew in front of him he asked, “What do these unreliable whisperers say of our dour friend from the North?”

Varys smiled at him. “Everything I said and more. His wildings speak of him as a god, come to save them from the horrors beyond the Wall. Apparently there was a large amount of discontent stewing amongst the officers around Jon Snow and his decision to allow those wildlings through the Wall. His First Ranger, Ser Alliser Thorne, is said to have conspired with Othell Yarwick and Bowen Marsh to relieve Jon Snow of his command. Said mutiny took place at Castle Black mere hours before the castle was overrun by the very wildlings Jon Snow saved.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Lord Varys.” Tyrion said, his beleaguered mind longing for his bed and end to the noise the day had brought.

“Oh, but it does. A mutiny only has one real goal,” Varys quickly fired back.

The pieces fell into place in Tyrion’s head, though he could hardly believe the words as he spoke “Are you truly telling me the mutineers killed Jon Snow? Then who landed on our shores not a few hours ago?” He quipped before slouching back in his chair. Tyrion remembered the words _from this day until my last day._ He shivered at the implication. 

“As I said, there are few who know of the events of that night. The key witnesses are either still in the Night’s Watch, amongst the King’s wildling army, or the King and his advisor themselves, save for one.” Varys stopped speaking to take a deep gulp of the wine in his cup. “All of the supposed mutineers were hanged by Jon Snow before the Lady Sansa arrived at Castle Black, and very little has been spoken of it since.”

“All but one? Who was the one?” Tyrion asked. 

“None other than the Lady Melisandre herself. It was after the Wildlings stormed Castle Black that she seems to have switched allegiances from Stannis to Jon Snow,” Varys answered. “She doesn’t appear to know much, given that she maintains the same tight-lipped silence as the Northmen she was surrounded with.” _And then she comes here to have us invite him to the island. Was this all a ploy?_ Tyrion thought. 

“Besides the small slip up Ser Davos had earlier today it seems,” Tyrion joked halfheartedly, his head beginning to spin more from the implications of these rumors than the several goblets of wine. _Dragons, an army of dead men, and unkillable bastards. This alliance looks queerer than I originally thought possible._

“I had the notion to drink wine until I could not walk,” Tyrion said, hopping from his chair and moving towards the door to the solar, “but it appears I must climb more bloody stairs. Where have we put the Red Woman? I wish to know what she said to our Queen.”

Tyrion’s hand was on the handle before Varys spoke up, “The Lady Melisandre has left our cozy island of Dragonstone to sail across the Narrow Sea.”

Tyrion’s temper threatened to boil over at that news. “She asks us to send for Jon Snow, stays on this island for a moon’s turn and leaves the day he arrives?” He half shouted. “Why in the Seven Hells would she ask him to come here if not to advocate for what he says?”

“I spoke with the Red Woman atop the cliffs as you were leading Jon Snow to the throne room. Apparently she and the King in the North did not part on the best of terms. If I had to wager a guess, I would say it was related to her burning the Princess Shireen at the stake before Stannis’ defeat at Winterfell.”

Tyrion's anger was calmed somewhat. “At least she had enough sense to know where she is not welcome,” he said. Tyrion turned back and walked to the table, re-seating himself and picking up his half full wine goblet. “We must contain our conversation to this solar only. Lady Melisandre poisoned the mind of a sovereign on this island once before, and now it seems she attempted to poison another.” _And what of our Northern sovereign’s mind? Are his tales of dead men and Night Kings more vile whisperings from her treacherous tongue?_

Tyrion didn't think so. It wasn't like Jon Snow to lie of something like that, and it wasn't the first time Tyrion had heard rumors of dead men coming back to life. _Ser Alliser came to King’s Landing telling a similar tale when I was Hand to another ruler._

Tyrion was halfway to his seat when he heard footsteps on the landing outside his solar. A decisive knock rang through the chamber as Tyrion walked back to his chair, yelling for the guest to enter. Mallaro entered the solar, bowing in greeting to each of the Queen’s advisors in turn. “You sent for me, my lord?” Mallaro said in a thick Ghiscari accent, his attention on Tyrion.

“I did,” Tyrion said, picking up his cup and drinking, “I wish for you to attend to our guest while he is here with us.” 

“Attend?” Mallaro said, his expression confused. Mallaro was the leader of the Mother’s Men, a group of former slave soldiers who were trained as guards and warriors. Ser Barristan Selmy had been responsible for bringing up knights and warriors during his time in Meereen, and none had been as prodigious with a blade as Mallaro. He was an easy choice for the brother’s of the Mother’s Men to make him their captain after Ser Barristan was killed. Strong, lean, and skilled with short spear and sword, Tyrion knew he would be a good pairing for the Jon Snow he had known before. The Jon Snow he prayed wasn’t chilled too harshly from his time on the Wall.

“Yes, attend,” Tyrion said firmly. “You are one of our fiercest warriors, and one of the Queen’s most stalwart voices. There is no better way for the King to be convinced of her good qualities than to have a former slave around him at all times to remind him.”

“But, my lord, what about command of the Mother’s Men? We’ve begun training new boys, and the men don’t know Ser Barristan’s training half as well as I,” Mallor said.

“Keep training,” Tyrion said simply. “If you explain it to Jon Snow he will surely allow you to continue. Doubtless he won’t keep you close anyway, if he is as distrustful as I presume. You may even wish to ask him to train with you, he is said to be one the greatest swordsman in the North now.

“As you wish my lord,” Mallaro said with a bow, “I will go to him now.”

“When you do, can you tell him our Queen wishes to speak after her dinner. Tell him that she will wait for him on the stairs out the West side of the castle. He is to come alone,” Tyrion warned before Mallaro left. 

Varys was silent throughout the whole exchange, waiting until Mallaro left to speak up. “You give our guest a warrior for an attendant, that seems a rather pointed message,” He said.

“I hope it does. Mallaro will advocate for the Queen in our absence, and it is important that Jon Snow sees that she is not just some conquering madwoman.” Tyrion spoke as he contemplated the door to his bedchambers. “Jon Snow looked up to men like Ser Barristan at one point, hopefully Mallaro has enough sense to tell Jon who trained him. Now if you’ll excuse me Lord Varys, I would rather like to put these cramping legs to rest after a hard days work.”

Varys laughed before sweeping from the room, leaving only the scent of spice and perfume in the air and Tyrion alone with his thoughts. _I must secure this Northern alliance without bloodshed at any cost. A campaign of conquest in the North after a bloody campaign in the South would never work in the Summer, let alone when Winter is upon us. I need Jon Snow to see our cause is just, and I need the Queen to see that we can’t fight two wars at the same time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Setup chapters are finally done. 
> 
> Tyrion is a lot of fun to write, but setting up politics is difficult. Next chapter we'll be back with Dany, then we'll go to Jon after that and we can finally get to see what they think of one another. 
> 
> As always, kudo and comment. The love keeps these going more than anything else, and I'm blown away by the responses I've gotten, so thanks to everyone who has stuck with it so far!


End file.
